


Smoke and Oakum

by Sharpiefan



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Episode: The Fire Ships | The Examination for Lieutenant, Gen, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 22:20:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharpiefan/pseuds/Sharpiefan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merry Christmas, one and all! I bring you a Christmas present of Hornblower fic. It's not a Christmas story though, so I hope you'll forgive me for that. I was watching and capping my DVD of Examination for Lieutenant the other day, and this plotbunny bit me rather hard. It's a particular episode of the story of the DVD, told from the point of view of a Marine Private (my own creation).</p><p>The title comes from a reply I made to Esteven's comment about another fic of mine being a 'perfect oakum story'. Oakum in this sense meaning 'filler'. I told her the next story that came out at a decent length would be titled 'Smoke and Oakum' with reference to Jack Aubrey's comment that they would "run like smoke'n'oakum'. Which this story has.</p><p>Unbeta'd. I hope you enjoy it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke and Oakum

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the canon characters, I merely have fun writing about them. I do not profit in any way from such activities.

It had started out as such a simple detail. Sergeant Foster had come down, called Corporal Buckley aside and told him that he, and his men, were to accompany Mister Hornblower ashore, where he was to arrange with the Moors to buy in stores for the fleet. If any of Corporal Buckley's men were on duty, he was to make up their numbers by borrowing from Corporal Saunders' squad.

Which was how Ben Willis found himself sitting in one of Indy's boats, his musket held upright. He was sitting in front of Mister Midshipman Hornblower, an officer who had only joined Indy relatively recently, from the aged ship-of-the-line _Justinian_ which had been left to rot in Spithead until a few months back.

It was hot, horribly so, and Willis wished he could take his hat and jacket off and dip his fingers in the cool blue water. Sometimes, he thought, serving at sea was the worst place to be, between the heat, water you couldn't drink, the winds – or lack of them – the weather and all the varying things that added up to make life in His Majesty's Marines pretty unbearable at times. Like now; they'd been on half rations for... he'd lost track, because the Spanish wouldn't let any British supply ships past them to resupply the Mediterranean fleet. Hence this trip.

Ten Marines and a Corporal wouldn't necessarily be needed for a victualling trip – even with the ever-present danger of deserters – but this was different. Stowed in the sternsheets and guarded by an ever-watchful Midshipman Hornblower, there was a box. It was a chest, really, and it was full of gold. The King's gold, to pay for food for the King's fleet.

Willis shifted on the hard thwart of the boat. He usually liked going ashore and seeing new things, new people and places, and this was as strange a place as he'd ever been to before. Oran. Even the very name sounded... exotic. The heat was unbearable, though, and he was hungry. He wondered how long it would be before they could finally have a good square meal, proper food in the proper amounts. Being blackstrapped didn't help either – they only had a ration of some thin sour sort of wine, rather than the grog they'd have if they were in the Caribbean, with the same heat.

He blinked as he realised the boat had come alongside while he'd been thinking. The oars rose smartly to allow the boat to slide smoothly in next to the jetty and the Marines stood up to leave the boat so they could secure the landing for the seamen, Mister Hornblower, the plump civilian with him, and the all-important gold. He had just stepped onto the jetty himself, the last Marine to leave the boat, as Mister Hornblower gave the order to rig the sail as an awning, to try to provide some shade. There was a scuffle, confused sounds that made Willis turn, to see a seaman throw himself onto the wooden planking of the jetty, scramble up and try to run past them.

“Hey!” he called and tightened his grip on his musket, reaching out to grab at the running sailor. The Marines were warned, every time there was a shore detail, to watch out for seamen trying to run, but he'd never come across one who'd actually be that stupid before this.

He wasn't the only one to grab at the seaman. Tom Combes was there and made a grab at the fleeing sailor's other arm, which allowed Willis to tighten his own grip. They found themselves holding the man securely, more by luck than by design, as Mister Hornblower came over. Willis shivered at the look on the midshipman's face – and he wasn't even the one in trouble.

“Bunting! Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he said. “Put him in the boat – and keep a guard on him!”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the two Marines said, jerking the sailor round and propelling him towards the boat. Willis was more than a little annoyed at losing what little chance he actually had of seeing any of this foreign shore as he and Combes settled the sullen seaman in the boat, where he'd be out of the way.

There was a commotion ashore, foreign voices and sounds punctuated every so often by Mister Hornblower's calm words, before the townspeople started bringing out sacks of grain to load the already-prepared lighter next to where the boat was moored. Willis frowned; there were men there using sticks to urge on those carrying the sacks – and not with just one or two blows, as a bosun's mate would give. He shrugged, and turned back to securing the prisoner.

“What the hell did you think you'd manage, tryin' to leg it here?” he asked, incredulously. He didn't really expect an answer, and wasn't surprised to receive nothing but a grunt and a gobbet of spittle that landed on the bottom boards next to his shoe.

Then an unnatural silence made Willis look up, with a frown, even as the silence was broken by shrill yells and the seamanlike bellow from the midshipman. “Stand fast there!”

Willis froze, even though he'd done nothing. It took a moment even to respond to the call, “Marines!”

“You stop here,” he said to Combes, seizing his musket and scrambling out of the boat, running along the jetty on legs unused to land. He wondered what the matter was, and then saw the other Marines forming up between the seamen and the townsfolk, who looked as though they were going to rush the boat and try to get away.

“Charge bayonets!” came the no-nonsense tones of Corporal Buckley.

Willis' musket came down automatically in response to the command, even though Buckley wasn't his own Corporal. The townspeople wavered and then turned to run in the other direction.

“We've been standing here, breathing this air, talking to that...” the civilian was saying, somewhere behind Willis, and he suddenly noticed the dead body lying in the open between them and the white walls of the Moorish town. “It's the plague – the Black Death!”

Willis tightened his grip on his musket even as he felt a tingle of fear go down his back. It would have been better to have stayed aboard _Indefatigable_ rather than risk... _that_. Mister Hornblower didn't seem to think so, though. The civilian who'd accompanied them, who seemed to be some sort of advisor, was saying they'd have to go into the town and that they couldn't risk infecting the fleet. Even Private Willis could see that would be a death sentence, though.

Mister Hornblower seemed to think there was another way, some way of keeping the fleet's supplies and of keeping themselves separate from both the fleet and the Moors. Quickly, he dispatched Willis back to the boat to get Combes and the seaman, Bunting, ashore, where the seaman would remain under guard, along with the desperately-needed supplies.

Bunting kicked off at first, but Combes gave him a hard shake. “You don't settle down, we'll find a bit o' rope and tie you so's you can't do anythin'. Which you wouldn't like at all under the sun here, trust me.” The sailor saw sense and subsided, joining the others on the jetty, even as the boat's crew trooped back aboard.

Mister Hornblower was the last man into the boat, both by custom and because he had some instructions for Corporal Buckley. “On no account are any of the townspeople to get near you. They've seen that you're armed and gone inside the town walls anyway, so you shouldn't have any problem with them. Keep a close guard on Bunting; he's already tried to run once and I don't want him to have another opportunity. I will be back in about four bells or so, no longer. Mister Tapling will stay with you. I need to inform Captain Pellew of developments here.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Buckley replied and began issuing a stream of orders.

Willis found himself handing over responsibility for the prisoner to Joyse and Grattan, who were both capable of stopping any nonsense before it started. It was with mixed feelings that he watched the boat pulling away, to cross the wide expanse of water between themselves and Indy.

Two hours later, the boat was spotted returning. The Marines had been hard at work; half the detachment had been on sentry duty and the other half had finished loading the supplies into the lighter. Mister Hornblower had said he had a plan that would allow those supplies to be delivered to the fleet, and Corporal Buckley had taken him at his word and decided there was no point in leaving the sacks of grain to lie where they had fallen, or been thrown.

The cattle had been patient enough, considering the weather, though they were grumbling a bit now.

The boat came alongside and Mister Hornblower scrambled out. He returned Corporal Buckley's salute impatiently. “We've got the _Caroline_. We are the only crew so everyone will have to work double tides until everything is loaded. Indy sent across spare clothes for all of us – Captain Pellew gave orders that dunnage should be hunted out for everyone on the shore party. Your sea-chests might not be as tidy as they were when you left, but everyone will have a spare shirt and trousers. And we're going to need them. We are spending three weeks at sea aboard a transport vessel, until our quarantine is run.” He turned to the civilian – Brice had said his name was Tapling and he was part of the diplomatic service – and told him the Captain's steward had sent across spare clothes out of the dunnage he had brought to Indy.

Tapling didn't seem to know whether to look outraged at the thought someone had gone through his things, relieved that he wouldn't have to spend three weeks wearing the same clothes, or concerned that he hadn't even thought of that possibility. Willis covered a snort by pretending to sneeze.

The lighter was an unwieldy craft that fit the description of a raft more than that of a boat. They finally managed to bring it alongside the _Caroline_ , whose paint was dull and flaking in parts. They began unloading the sacks of grain. The Marines stripped off their jackets, putting them and their muskets safely in one corner of the berthing area.

There seemed to be some sort of cell equipped with irons and Corporal Buckley wasted no time in getting the prisoner down there with irons on his wrists and a guard on the door.

It was hard work shifting sacks and Willis was grateful that they weren't expected to do the work in their woollen coats. The heat was unbearable, nearly, The cattle started grumbling and Mister Hornblower got some the sailors to rig the pump and get some water on them to cool them down. Willis would have liked to get sprayed himself; it looked very cool under the water jet. Some of the sailors started larking around and one or two of them actually fell into the water.

There was a shout from someone – Willis thought it was Brice, but couldn't be sure that it wasn't one of the sailors – that a boat was approaching from the shore. It was a strange, exotic-looking thing, with faded, peeling paint, and Willis wondered how it managed to stay afloat because it looked as though the wood was dried out and cracked. There was a furious jabbering in their language and the sailors rigged up a tackle to send over a bucket with the gold, payment for their grain and the cattle.

There seemed to be some sort of argument going on aboard the other vessel, with men in their robes and turbans all talking very loudly and excitedly in their own language and pushing and shoving at eachother. One men fell in and was soon followed by another and Willis expected the bucket to get tipped over, sending the money to the bottom of the water, though a moment later he saw that the bucket was safe and being passed up the side before the bags inside it were pulled out and the bucket sent back across for the next instalment.

The Marine lost count of the number of times the bucket was passed between the two vessels, but at last Mister Hornblower shook his head, and showed them the empty chest. There was more jabbering and arguing before they finally hoisted their lateen sail and headed back where they'd come from.

The work wasn't over yet because the cattle needed watering and feeding, but at least the heavy work was over, with loading the stores into the hold. At last, they could sit down to dinner. Willis was pleasantly surprised to find that they had fresh beef instead of salt meat, though he couldn't remember them taking any salt meat on board with their stores. And then Kirridge, the ship's steward who'd been part of the shore party, had slaughtered one of the beef cattle they'd taken on board. He was just so used to animals being slaughtered for the officers that he'd never seriously considered the prospect that it might be for them.

Bunting was allowed out of his cell and had his irons removed so that he could eat with them, though he had to eat with the Marines rather than with the rest of the sailors. He finished his food in a sullen silence and got up. Willis started to get up as well, concerned about having him roaming about the ship when he was supposed to be confined, but he was pulled back down by Brice. “Let him go; there ain't anywhere he can run to, not out here,” he said and Willis subsided, to finish his meal.

~ ~ ~

  
The crew of the Caroline, both seamen and Marines, settled into a routine fairly soon. There was none of the discipline of the lower deck of Indy, though the Marines and the sailors kept to their own areas of the berth deck. It wasn't deliberately done; it was just how they felt most comfortable.

Bunting requested a meeting with Mister Hornblower, and though Willis (the sentry at the time) felt inclined to deny him the request, he couldn't do so in good conscience, and passed the word for Mister Hornblower to come down. He thought the young midshipman might refuse the request, and was a little surprised when he came down. He was even more surprised when he came out a few minutes later and ordered that Bunting be allowed to join with the rest of the crew: he was going to work his passage, though he'd still be messing with the Marines, and would be berthing with them, too, until they got back to Indy.

~ ~ ~

  
A week into their quarantine, there was a commotion on deck. Willis looked up from the whittling he was doing to pass his off-watch time, wondering what the noise could be. It didn't die down, and he shrugged, scrambled up and hurried after Combes to see what was going on, fearing the worst. It was the worst, of course, though not quite what either Marine had expected. Two sailors had a third man held at arm's length – further, in fact. It looked as though they were using brooms or swabs or something to get him as far away from them as they could.

Combes asked the sailor next to him what was going on, and the man's answer sent a chill through Willis. “He's got the plague, ain't he? Senseless as them darkies ashore.” Willis had almost forgotten the reason they were here, and this was a chilling reminder of why they were on this old, slow and creaky vessel instead of the trim, fast _Indefatigable_ , where they belonged.

The two sailors had got their man now and were shepherding him towards the rail, evidently intending to get him off the ship. A sudden shout stopped them short. “What's going on here?”

They stopped and instinctively knuckled their foreheads, even as the Marines sprang to attention and the other sailors made their own obediences. “He's got the plague, sir,” the dark-haired sailor – Styles – reported.

Mister Hornblower crossed the deck in three quick, angry strides, kicking something on the way. Willis glanced down to see a bottle rolling into the scuppers, even as the young gentleman caught hold of the seaman and hauled him upright. He made a face as he smelt the man's breath, and Willis caught his lower lip between his teeth, hoping that Mister Hornblower wouldn't catch it, too, because if he got it, he'd die, and then they'd be stuck out here forever.

He barely had time to form the wish, though, before the officer pushed the senseless man towards the gathered crew, causing them to shrink back in horror. “He hasn't got the plague.” Hornblower looked from face to face. “The man is drunk! Get him below where he can sober up!” Styles blinked, then a relieved smile crossed his face and he bent to sling the drunken sailor over his shoulder, even as the rest of the men sighed and smiled in relief. “Corporal Buckley! Find out how he got hold of the liquor and let me know – I do not want a repeat of this circus act!”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Buckley said, with a brisk salute, before calling to those Marines not on duty and detailing them to help with the search for any more liquor, of any sort. Any found would be placed under guard, and Willis gave a quiet sigh. That meant one more duty for the ten of them to share out between them for the two weeks left of their quarantine.

There were only a few bottles left of the stuff, and they were placed in Mister Hornblower's own cabin, where there was already a Marine on sentry duty all the time, anyway, which saved them having to find someone else for a duty, and stretching themselves that much thinner.

Bunting tried to moan about it at dinner that day, the way he'd moaned about practically everything since coming on board. It was Grattan who finally snapped. “Look, mate, if you hadn't stowed away in the boat in the first place, plannin' to run, you wouldn't be here in this pretty little mess. An' you've bin eatin' fresh beef every day, like the King himself don't do, 'stead o' rottin' on half-rations aboard Indy. An' don't you tell me you wasn't plannin' on runnin' 'cause I saw you with me own eyes, aye, an' saw Combes and Willis here have to grab you back. None of us was to know there was plague around, but we've got a better chance o' gettin' through this next couple o' weeks in one piece 'cause of Mister Hornblower, and don't you forget it, neither. 'Sides, if it wasn't for him, you'd be stuck down in that there hold with them cows, 'stead of up here breathin' fresh air an' eatin' like a Christian. So stow it.”

Grattan's speech effectively stopped all conversation at the Marine's mess table; none of the other Privates could remember the last time he'd said so much all at once. Bunting subsided, effectively squashed. He obviously hadn't realised how much even the Marines trusted and relied on the young Midshipman. No – wasn't he an acting Lieutenant? Willis hadn't really seen that much of him before all this, and suddenly remembered that yes, he'd been made an acting Lieutenant only a short while before their mission to Oran.

~ ~ ~

  
Their quarantine had a week left to run when they reached the last layer of water butts in the hold. The animals had been drinking their way through the fresh water as though there was no tomorrow, and suddenly they were down to their last three days' worth.

Mister Hornblower made the decision to find somewhere quiet and secluded to restock their water supplies. The duty would take all the men aboard _Caroline_ , apart from Mister Tapling. Willis was concerned about Mister Hornblower's taking Bunting with them – the man had already tried to run, once. Surely he'd do it again, given half a chance? Apparently Corporal Buckley had the same thought because while Willis was checking his kit over, he saw him talking quietly with the Navy officer. He couldn't help overhearing Mister Hornblower's words, though he wasn't intentionally eavesdropping.

“I know, and I agree. But we need all hands to turn to for this, Corporal. We don't have as many men as we would usually have for a watering party, which is good because we don't need as much water as we would if we were watering for Indy. Detail one man – two if you can spare them – to keep a close eye on him, though we can't watch him at the expense of our own safety, especially as Spain is enemy territory now.”

Willis intercepted a glance from the officer and dropped his eyes, checking his musket flint for the third time. He hadn't realised they'd crossed back to the Spanish coast, though of course they would have. The supplies they were carrying were for the fleet in Gibraltar, after all.

He scrambled down into the boat, finding himself next to the errant Bunting, who had taken an oar against Willis' private thoughts that he ought to be left aboard _Caroline_ in irons. Any man who'd run once was going to try again... wasn't he?

They had filled most of the water barrels when it happened, so fast that Cox was the first to react. Bunting bent to pick up the bailer before spinning to ram it into Brice's belly, dropping him to the ground where he lay gasping for breath, before he ran, sprinting off before any of the other Marines knew what was happening.

Cox made a futile effort to grab at the man's sleeve, and led the chase after him into the trees. He was in the lead when a shot rang out and he crumpled to the ground. Willis thought he was dead, at first, and nearly stopped to check. Then he saw him clutch at his side, and realised that he was still alive. And not only that, but there were Spaniards up the hill, hiding among the trees.

He fired his own musket off and saw one of them fall even as he brought the weapon down from his shoulder to reload it. Mister Hornblower ran past, intent on getting to Bunting, and Willis could do nothing other than yell after him that there were Spanish soldiers up there. He was ignored, of course – he hadn't really expected anything else.

He glanced sideways as he caught sight of a flash of red from the corner of his eye. The other Marines had come up, leaving a couple of sailors to help Cox back to the boat. They were there to defend the watering party. Brice had managed to recover his breath, and joined them, looking shamefaced. “I din't mean for to go an' let him get the better of me, Corp'ral,” he said. Buckley waved his apology away distractedly. “Where's Mister Hornblower got to?” he wanted to know, and Willis could only shrug. “He went off up thataway, Corp'ral, after that idiot Buntin'.”

There was a shot, and the Marines tensed, wondering what was going on. The Spanish soldiers didn't seem in any hurry to scramble down the hillside. Sensible of them, Willis thought wryly. They'd only have to scramble back up it, after all, and it was a hot day to be doing that sort of thing.

There was a second shot and the Marines slowly moved forward, very conscious suddenly that red coats in woodland would mean they'd be seen before they caught sight of the Spanish.

There was a flash of blue among the trees, and Combes and Joyse raised their muskets. Brice pushed the muzzle of the nearest musket – Joyse's – down, and received a startled “Hey!” from the other Marine.

“That there's Mister Hornblower, you blind idiot,” Brice said. Willis caught sight of a flash of white that could only be the lad's trousers, and realised he was stumbling, finding it hard going for some reason. “He's wounded!”

“No, he ain't,” Grattan said. “He's carryin' that damn fool Buntin' over his shoulders.”

Joyse gaped and glanced at Corporal Buckley for permission before thrusting his musket at him and running forward to relieve the officer of the other man's dead weight.

It was proper dead weight, too, Willis realised, once he saw the way the sailor's head was lolling and caught a glimpse of the bullet wound in his chest. He wondered what had happened up there in the trees.

They had no more incidents and managed to get the last of the water casks and their now dead runaway back to the _Caroline_ without further incident. The Marines took the main part of stowing the casks in the hold – they could tail on a rope just as well as any sailor, after all, and most of the seamen were tired out from the work of filling the casks and rowing back out to the supply ship.

The tired Marines came back up on deck to find that Mister Hornblower wanted to bury Bunting with all due ceremony, despite the fact he'd been shot while running.

Willis didn't understand that. The man ought to be tipped over the side without any ceremony at all – better men than him had gone that way during battle, after all. The man had run – twice! And nearly got away with it too. He would have, most likely, if Mister Hornblower hadn't gone haring after him like that, smack into the Spanish Army, nearly.

~ ~ ~

  
The final day of their quarantine dragged as though it would last forever. There had been no plague among the tiny crew of _Caroline_ and it was hardly likely to break out now. They were within view of the fleet now and the yellow quarantine flag flew from the mainmast head, visible to every ship in the fleet.

Mister Hornblower had only ordered it raised that morning as they made the approach to Gibraltar. And now they lay at anchor, with the fleet, yet not with the fleet. They were at a distance from it, and every so often Willis caught the reflection off the lens of a telescope on one or other of the ships as someone scrutinised them to see whether the plain yellow quarantine flag had been replaced with the dreaded plague flag with its quartered yellow and black. Seeing that flag flown would dash the hopes of the entire fleet that at least one supply ship would come through to relieve them of the hunger that two months on half-rations had ensured.

Hornblower himself kept listening out for the bells from the anchored fleet. The Marines spent the day polishing and pipeclaying. They were not going to disgrace themselves, Mister Hornblower, _Caroline_ or their own ship, _Indefatigable_ , before the watching fleet.

Finally, at six bells of the afternoon watch, the acting Lieutenant gave the order to weigh anchor.

 _Caroline_ sailed closer and closer to the expectant fleet. As they made their final approach, the Marines lined up along the rail. _Caroline_ carried no guns and could not offer the Admiral the salute due, so they would do the best they could with what they had.

As seven bells rang out from the majestic first rate, Mister Hornblower gave a nod. Matthews, the older sailor who'd acted as their bosun for the past three weeks, lowered the quarantine flag as Corporal Buckley brought his Marines to the 'present arms'

They had survived.


End file.
